


Hers

by semele



Series: Braven Bingo Card [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 02:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18437342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/pseuds/semele
Summary: Raven wants to feel that Bellamy is hers.See also: canon-verse pegging, very explicit.





	Hers

**Author's Note:**

> I asked my girlfriend to make me a Braven smut bingo card, and she did. So here it is, my attempt to get a bingo. The full card is here: [click!](https://66.media.tumblr.com/1acaaabf76d6b20879b500f560883e1f/tumblr_pppi2nQBlQ1qlcyroo1_540.jpg)
> 
> Be warned: this is pure self-indulgence. And by "this" I mean the whole collection.

Raven has no idea when or why she first thought of this.

She thinks someone must've told her in some way: in words, or maybe in a picture? She is a genius, yes, but she doubts that the idea of wearing a strap-on would've just sprung in her brain fully out of nowhere, not at the age when the only cock she's ever touched was Finn's clumsily disguised erection rubbing against her hip. So she must've seen or read something, and once she did, it was stuck in her brain like an inconveniently horny piece of algae.

“How does it feel?” he asks Bellamy one day, when they're resting together in bed right before sleep. “You know… To be inside someone?”

He lets out a fond chuckle before he answers, like nothing she asks could ever surprise him anymore, and adjusts on the pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Like there is something warm around me, and I can't get enough of it.”

Which is a pretty answer, Raven judges, and probably part of the truth, but not all of it. It can't be all of it, because she won't believe for a second that in that moment when he's above her, fucking her into the mattress, he doesn't feel at least a little bit like she's as his as she'll ever be.

***

After that first conversation, it becomes more and more tempting for Raven to mark Bellamy in any way she can.

It's nothing big, of course, but the first time she sees scratch marks on his back after sex, she pulls him back into round two almost immediately, so greedy she can barely contain herself. Then come hickeys and grease stains on his skin and hair, as if it's just an accident that she didn't wash her hands all too carefully after she finished in her workshop. It's not that she wants others to see, no; but she wants Bellamy to see and feel that she is all over him, crawling into every space and marking every bit of skin she can get to. She even starts dropping her tools in his quarters, supposedly on accident, but somehow she never comes to collect them afterwards, not even when he tells her where they are.

“You marked territory again,” he jokes after the fifth time, and she panics for a second, knowing that he looked right through her, but then she realizes that he doesn't seem to mind. Whenever he calls her possessive, there is no tinge of accusation in his voice. Only humor and fondness.

“I need you to know that you're mine,” she tries, the joke weak around the edges, and when he lets out a short laugh, her relief feels almost like a tangible thing.

“Trust me,” he says, mischief in his eyes. “I got the memo.”

She doesn't want to tell him what exactly is on her mind, doesn't have the guts to just ask for what she wants to do in bed. Instead, she gets territorial about his pleasure – goes down on him with dogged determination to be the best lay he's ever had, or stares at him intently when he's inside her, greedy for every sign that she is singular and unique, a one of a kind experience, someone making a mark on his very soul.

One night, she goads him until he really gives her all he's got, slamming into her with bruising strength, until she feels, just before she comes, that they are almost melded together.

“I wish I could do this to you,” she breathes out, without thinking about how it sounds, worn out in the best possible way.

In the moment of silence after that, she has time to regret all her choices ever, until…

“Why can't you?” he asks, as calmly as if he is discussing the weather.

***

They can’t exactly do anything right away, not without some serious prep, and if Raven thought that things were awkward when she was hiding her fantasies from Bellamy, she reconsiders after the first half an hour of trying to build a strap-on.

Bellamy’s attitude is as matter-of-fact as it gets, and at first, it freaks Raven out, but soon she learns to appreciate his ease. He comments on her prototype like it’s the new village smokehouse or something, gives feedback on girth and texture, because apparently this is perfectly normal. Wound-up, possessive mechanics often confess that they want to fuck his ass. Happens all the time.

“How are you so chill about this?” she blurts out a week in, anxiety getting the better of her. This can't be happening. She shouldn't get this. She wants it, yes. But she definitely shouldn't get it, even if she can't think of any good reason why.

Bellamy shrugs.

“Why wouldn't I be? You want to do something, and I'm into it. It's not like you asked if you could drink my blood. Can we make this a bit thinner, you think? Not by much, just… Enough so I can actually take it without endless prep.” He gives her a look. “Unless endless prep is part of the fun?”

She snatches the prototype out of his hands, blushing furiously, but when he turns around later to grab something from the shelf, she doesn’t resist giving his ass a little grope, all cute and affectionate. Hers, she thinks deep down. He is hers.

“You see anything you like?” he asks in this warm voice he sometimes gets, and on a whim, Raven gropes harder, lets the greed show on her face. 

“I do,” she says quietly, and when he turns around to look at her, she doesn’t even try to smooth her features. Let him see, and if he runs away, so be it.

“Good,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against her cheek. “Raven? It’s okay, relax. It’s not… It’s just a kink you wanna play with. There is nothing wrong with that.”

Well, that’s one way of putting it.

***

By the time they finally have half-decent lube and a strap-on that’s safe to use, most of Raven’s embarrassment is gone, melted by the steady stream of Bellamy’s matter-of-factness, and leaving more and more space for hunger.

In some ways, he is right – it’s not a big deal, not something to clutch her pearls about. But also: it is a big deal, damn it, in a way that has nothing to do with shame, and she knows that for sure as soon as he starts stripping, every inch of skin given to her in trust.

She’s fantasized before about bending Bellamy over every surface she could think of, but when push comes to shove, she guides him to lie on his back and spread his legs, yes, just like this, she just needs to see his face. Needs to reassure herself, as she brushes her slippery fingertips between his cheeks, that he is loving every single moment of this. After all, if she doesn’t see all his reactions, is he truly hers?

Bellamy never was the kind of guy who reacts with moans to the first touch. Most nights they spend together, he is slow to start, as if he had this careful, Bellamy way of settling into pleasure before he gives in to it. Today is no different, and that, in itself, gives Raven a boost that comes from easy familiarity. When she starts teasing him open, he makes that little rolling motion with his hips, like he’s sinking into a comfortable chair and stretching his muscles. The first gasp doesn’t come until she starts to work a finger inside him, and even then it sounds cautious, like he’s considering if it’s worth getting excited. 

So she adds a second finger, steels herself, and starts scissoring them gently.

“Oh, fuck me,” he breathes out suddenly; his hips shoot up, then come back down as his hands grab the sheets, and she’s never seen him snap into pleasure like this, a little bit then all at once, surrendering all control. He doesn’t try to speed things up, doesn’t demand a different rhythm or try to touch his cock to bring himself relief. He just chases her fingers, desperate for whatever they want to do with him. She could watch him like this for hours.

So, out of pure greed, she twists her fingers again, then again and again, until she can see it’s an effort not to ride her hand, not to chase for more, more of this, more pleasure, more touch. More Raven.

“Turn around, baby,” she murmurs, and he almost jumps to do as she asks, head down, ass up, and so beautiful Raven can’t resist groping one cheek with her free hand, then smacking gently, just to see how Bellamy’s flesh will react in contact with her hand. The flesh, as it turns out, doesn’t react much, but Bellamy himself lets out a muffled curse, half-moan, half-beg, so she follows up by adding a third finger. He starts riding her hand the way she rides his when she’s so wound up she could explode, more, more, harder. Fuller.

When she finally gets up to her knees, and lines up the strap-on with his entrance, she is so focused on his reactions that she could swear she can actually feel him squeeze around her as she pushes in.

After that, it’s a blur. She knows that, at some point, her thighs touch Bellamy’s ass, and by that time, he is moaning loudly, as needy now as he was stoic at the start. Not long after that, she finds a good spot, a really good one, the kind that makes him grab the sheets and push back against her, faster, harder, greedier. She knows that her legs feel on fire; knows that something in the strap-on manages to rub against her clit a bit, and that at some point Bellamy gives his cock a few quick tugs, then falls forward, breathing in shaky, greedy gulps of air.

“Are you okay?” she rushes to ask, and all he gets in response is a laughter, breathless and full of life, and so beautiful she’s going to remember it forever.

“Yeah,” he manages. “Yeah, I’m okay. My legs are… Holy shit, Raven.”

“Next time, I’m keeping you on your back the whole time,” she announces, as if they already agreed that there would be a next time, and to her surprise, Bellamy’s hand finds hers on the sheets, and squeezes it lightly.

“Yeah.” He swallows. “You should.”

He doesn't let go of her hand until she moves to clean them both up, and for some reason, this feels more like an _I love you_ than any words he could ever say to her.


End file.
